High Hopes
by Quiteokayish
Summary: Thorin's eyes were drawn to the simple painting of an acorn. He traced the outline of it with his fingertips, feeling both relieved and horrified that Bilbo had not forgotten him after all.
1. Chapter 1

"Where's Thorin?" Bilbo asked, tugging on a medic's shoulder. He was ignored however, as the medic moved to help another injured soldier.

"Excuse me," he asked again, approaching a dwarf from Dain's army. "Can you tell me where I can find the king?"

"I'm afraid that's confidential," the dwarf said, eyes narrowing. Bilbo sighed; he should have expected such treatment from Dain's army. After all, it had taken the company several months to trust _him_.

"I'm his friend." He explained.

"You'll have to find someone else," the dwarf said, stepping to the side and moving away from the hobbit.

Bilbo closed his eyes tightly. He'd find the dwarf king. He had too.

"Bilbo- my lad," he heard a deep voice, most definitely Gandalf's, come from behind him, and he nearly shouted in relief.

"Gandalf-" He said, "I'm glad you're alright. I need to find Thorin."

"Ah- Thorin won't be seeing anyone at the moment." The wizard said. "He's very injured, and though I am assured he will live, he needs all the rest he can get."

"Oh-" Bilbo said, a plan already formulating in his mind. "Well could you tell me where his tent might be? I could visit him tomorrow, after he's feeling better."

"Hmm," Gandalf started, and Bilbo knew he was stretching the wizard's trust already. "It's the one at the farthest right of the camp, a little bit away from the others."

Bilbo nodded, doing his best to wear a smile as he stood and spoke with Gandalf for a time. To his relief the wizard was soon distracted by some other dwarves, and Bilbo took that as his moment to put on his magic ring, and slip away.

The tent was easy enough to find, what was difficult was getting through the front folds without being noticed. After quite a bit of uncomfortable maneuvering however, he was able to get into the king's tent.

"Fili and Kili, are they alright?" Thorin asked, and Bilbo stopped in his tracks. How did Thorin know he was there?

"Yes, they'll be fine." Balin said, and Bilbo let out a silent sigh of relief, watching as Oin pressed a dripping washcloth against Thorin's shoulder. The king hissed, but other than that showed little reaction. The hobbit felt a little sick at the sight of so much blood seeping from the wound, and immediately stepped forward to help, before realizing that he was still invisible.

"I'm glad they're alright." Thorin said. "And Bilbo?"

Balin nodded at him. "He is unharmed."

"Good," the king let his head hit the pillow he was leaned up against. "I don't think that I could ever forgive-" he gritted his teeth as Oin smeared some ointment on the deep wound.

"I-" he paused, seeming to catch up with his thoughts. "I don't want him to visit."

Bilbo frowned.

"Why not?" Balin asked.

Thorin remained quiet.

"I'm sure that Bilbo has already forgiven you-"

"It's not that." Thorin said, clenching a fist at his side where he thought that no one could see, though, Bilbo could. "Just- keep him away. Alright?"

"As you say." Balin said submissively.

The hobbit snuck away then, convincing himself that he would visit the next morning, though he never did.

* * *

Thorin stared from where he sat in the cot. The tent flap had just flickered to the left in a way he had not seen it do thus far. Shrugging it off as the wind, he continued his conversation with Balin.

"I need to gather my wits before I confront him." He said, "I went too far. I will not risk whatever fragile companionship we have left."

Balin heaved a sigh. "You've always been one for dramatics. You know that our burglar holds nothing against you."

"Regardless, I wish to take things slowly. I do not want to hurt Bilbo again…" he paused. "I do not trust myself not to."

* * *

Bilbo swore under his breath as the screw fell from his hand and clattered against the wooden floor. He reached down for it, but upon doing so, the door decided to give way, coming to smack him against the back of the head.

Giving up, he dropped his tools and went outside, hands pulled tight into fists. The sun was far too bright for his liking and the neighbor far too friendly as he approached the fuming bachelor.

"Hello Bilbo!" Ned said, grinning widely.

The hobbit nodded at him stiffly. "And ah- how are you?"

"Quite well." He said, "I was wondering, how complying would you be to join me for lunch?"

"Trust me," Bilbo said, "I'd love too. At the moment though, I'm quite busy."

Ned looked at him, confused. "Are you sure? You don't seem to be."

"Indefinitely."

"Well if you say so," Ned shrugged and continued on his way, and Bilbo fell onto his bench, searching his pocket for a pipe.

He couldn't help but remember a similar morning, one in which he was only a Baggins, a quiet hobbit with no past and no future.

He was still like that- he supposed. It suited him in a way.

The shape of the mail box seemed to call to him, and taking a breath, he got to his feet and went to open it.

 _Maybe, just this once…_

The letters were addressed from various names for various reasons. One was from the Sackville Baggins, that he pointedly ignored, and another from his distant cousin, Drogo, announcing his engagement. The rest were of little interest to him.

He sighed. He should have expected as much.

Grey eyes scanning the road, Bilbo nodded to himself; stuffing the letters in his pocket he headed back inside.

The door could not be shut, so instead he closed it the best he could, and went to dump the letters out on the table. Before leaving however, he spotted a familiar yellow piece of paper. Pushing the plates left over from his second breakfast, he pulled it out to view. By now he had framed it, because tucking it away just seemed far too final to him.

His finger traced the edge of The Lonely Mountain, the corner of his mouth tugging down.

Balin had stopped by to visit some months ago, explaining how he was planning to retake Moria, and a party was currently camped out near The Shire, waiting for his return.

Ori had accompanied him on that day, and Bilbo delighted in the young dwarf's company. Upon seeing the portraits of Bilbo's parents on the mantle, Ori asked him about his experience in the arts. He had denied any, nevertheless they spent a good hour discussing the art of writing and painting, and by the end of it the dwarf had offered him some of his own supplies and paints, insisting that all he would need in Moria was a journal and a quill.

The elder of his two visitors had claimed that the company missed him dearly, and that he was welcome to visit them at The Lonely Mountain whenever he wished. Bilbo smiled and nodded at this, though the movement felt empty to him. Balin seemed to understand Bilbo's feelings in those moments, because he went on to say:

"Thorin is a very busy king."

The hobbit blanched. "So he _is_ receiving my letters?"

"Yes," the dwarf said, "But you must understand, he has an entire kingdom to rebuild."

"No, I understand." Bilbo said. "He must indeed be very busy."

Balin could tell he did not mean it, though the king was not mentioned again throughout the rest of their meeting. Bilbo would send his guests off a few hours later with full bellies and good wishes, then go to his study and crumble the half written letter that lay open on his desk.

He considered himself a patient hobbit, but five years felt far too long to him for go without a single word from his friend.

He leaned against the table, putting a hand to his forehead. Perhaps he was asking too much of Thorin. Perhaps _he_ was the one being obstinate. Balin was right, after all, Thorin was a king.

Whatever it was, Bilbo simply _could not_ let it bother him. He decided then and there that he would head over to Ned's house with a few cakes, apologizing for the bluntness he had expressed earlier.

Though, even as he grabbed the cakes and moved towards the door, Bilbo still couldn't help but pull some papers back to cover the map.

That was a part of his life that he needed to let go.

The thought of doing so made a few tears gather in his eyes. Because- after all- how could he simply let it go? It was two years of his life spent on the road, being brave and learning more than he could ever imagine. He had made so many friends on his journey. There were so many bridges that he couldn't burn.

He set the cakes on the counter and took a breath.

He knew then that no matter how hard he tried, the adventure would always be a part of him. He would never forget the sight of a dragon, of armies clashing, of eagles flying in the sky.

And he most certainly couldn't forget Thorin, even if he tried.

And he definitely had.

* * *

Thorin found Hobbiton to be much more navigable the second time around.

Perhaps it was because he was walking in broad daylight. Perhaps it was because he was much more humble now, and more inclined to ask for directions. It might have been his acute awareness of how little time he had to spend in The Shire, or even the small maturity those five years as a king had given him.

Or perhaps it was because this time he was incredibly intent on finding Bag-end, more so than he had been even all those years ago.

He steadied himself as his hand reached out to knock against the round green door. What if Balin and the others had been wrong? What if Bilbo hadn't forgiven him? What if the hobbit had moved to a different house? Or a different street? Or even a new town?

What if he had forgotten him?

It was the last question that made Thorin hesitate, lowering his hand to his side as he took a deep breath.

Bilbo Baggins had saved his life on numerous occasions, had taught him so many things, and had been with him even deep into his own madness. The hobbit had been one of his closest- and perhaps even his best friend. Could he have forgotten him after all this time?

"No," Thorin breathed, because he had loved him back. At least- that was what he said.

Thorin would have been mad to claim that _he_ had forgotten the burglar. There was not a day that he did not think of Bilbo. Nor was there a day that he did not hold back a physical cringe of regret as he recalled what he had done to his friend.

 _Friend._

The term sounded funny in his mind. Bilbo was many things to him, a friend, yes, but also an employee, a companion, a confidant. Bilbo was a kind soul and someone to confide with in his worst and best of times. Bilbo was an innocent hobbit trapped in a bizarre, harsh journey, and later stuck between his own conscience and loyalty to the dwarf king.

Bilbo was more than a friend.

"Why- who are you?"

Thorin turned sharply, having not heard someone coming up behind him. The hobbit who had addressed him was an angry looking, thin lipped woman with starkly colored clothes and furrowed brows.

"I'm a friend of Master Baggins." He said.

"Well has he come home then?" she questioned, and Thorin cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"I was just here a few minutes ago to meet him, and he was nowhere to be seen. Might I ask- what business do you have with my cousin?"

"I'm his friend." Thorin said simply. "And you are?"

"Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, if you must know." She replied sharply. "If you want something from Bilbo, I suggest you return for it later. He's not a very reliable fellow."

With that she stuck up her nose and set off down the street. Thorin shook his head. At the very least, this was an opportunity for him to put off the meeting a little further and clear his head.

"Thank you, then." He said, though she was not there to hear it.

* * *

Bilbo found that the night breezes often left him chilled and melancholy, but he didn't care. It had been a long while since he was brave enough to walk under the stars again, to be vulnerable and viewable by all those who wished to look. The fresh air was good to his head however, and Bilbo decided it would be best to compromise and head out to the woods.

The crickets were the loudest thing in his ears, and that was well and fine with him. He had had enough of nosy neighbors and a certain cousin of his that refused to leave him alone. The silence of it all seemed to be the reason his shoulder's relaxed in those moments, and he let out a deep sigh as he leaned himself up against a tree.

The silence of the woods did however, cause him a great deal of stress. With so little to distract him from his emotional woes, Bilbo soon found himself biting his fingernails as certain thoughts seemed to replay in his head.

There were several things he could never forget, though the most prominent always seemed to be the battle. At least- what happened afterwards

* * *

" _Bilbo"_

 _The hobbit turned quickly to find Thorin Oakenshield spread out on the ground, blood covering the entirety of his torso. He wondered how much the king had lost, was it enough to kill him? It certainly looked like it._

" _You're hurt," he said bluntly, kneeling beside his friend and immediately pressing his hands to his shoulder._

 _Thorin grunted, and Bilbo pushed harder with his shaky hands. He didn't look at the dwarf king. He couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes in those moments._

" _Bilbo, are you alright?" the dwarf asked beneath him, his hand pressed weakly against the hobbit's elbow._

 _He let out a dry laugh. "Thorin- you're and idiot."_

" _I am weakening." Thorin said, his voice sounding empty. "I can feel myself going numb."_

" _You're just cold, is all." Bilbo reasoned, sitting back to remove his coat. He stopped when a large hand found his._

" _Bilbo Baggins, I swear if you do not look at me…"_

 _Slowly, almost shyly the hobbit turned his head and met the clear blue eyes of the dwarf king._

 _Thorin smiled, and Bilbo broke._

" _You shouldn't be upset," he said as tears began to stream down the halfling's cheeks, "It's better this way."_

" _Don't you dare think I'll let you die," Bilbo's voice was hoarse, and rising in volume with each word. "You listen to me- Thorin, you're going to live."_

" _I don't deserve to," the king said simply, and Bilbo glared at him._

" _This isn't about you Thorin." He hissed. Why was he so angry? He wasn't angry at his friend, or even himself, so who was he angry with? Why did his heart beat so violently in his ribcage that he wanted it to stop altogether?_

" _It doesn't matter how sad you are, or how much you've done, or who you've hurt. I don't care and I can guarantee that there is not a single soul out there that does. Regardless of what you want, or what you think you 'deserve', you're going to make it. Do you understand me?"_

" _Bilbo-"_

" _Consider it my fourteenth share." The hobbit said. "You are a king- and you cannot go back on your word. You owe me payment, and that payment is you living."_

 _The hobbit draped his coat over the dwarf king gently, though his gaze was stern. He'd be damned if he let the king die now, after all that had happened._

 _Thorin squeezed his hand, and Bilbo found the strength to meet his gaze again._

" _I love you."_

 _They sat in silence for what had to have been a few minutes, staring intently at one another._

" _You mean this?" The hobbit asked, "You did try to throw me off the gate, you know."_

" _For which I am sorry." The king said, "I am so, so sorry."_

" _I suppose then, Thorin Oakenshield, it would only be right if I told you the truth."_

" _Which is?"_

 _Bilbo's gaze did not shy away then. "You'd be absolutely dull to think that I don't feel the same."_

 _The dwarf's eye widened. "Truly?"_

 _He offered a half smile, holding his hand tightly. "Truly."_

 _Something softened in both of them then, and Bilbo's heart seemed to slow down quite a bit._

" _Over here!" someone shouted in the distance. "It's the king! He's over here!"_

" _I will see you again?" Bilbo asked._

" _I promise." Thorin answered without a moment's hesitation._

* * *

It would have been very easy for him to stay in an inn that night, Thorin thought as he stoked the small campfire he had created. However, doing so would give him a greater chance of running into Bilbo, and by that time Thorin was beginning to realize just how unprepared he was to meet the hobbit again after all this time.

A chest of gold and gems sat at his side, and Thorin put a steady hand on it, as if the wind could carry it away. It was Bilbo's fourteenth share after all, and he best not lose the one excuse he had to visit the hobbit.

In that regard, he was sure that Balin would have allowed him to visit Bilbo for whatever reason, but the aging dwarf seemed to know that there was something between them, and Thorin would rather not give him reason to be suspicious. He knew that whatever relationship that had developed between the hobbit and himself was doomed from the start. He could never marry someone outside of royalty- and besides, Bilbo deserved much more than the likes of himself.

He was there strictly for business reasons- he would tell the hobbit. Only to give the share that was owed.

Because regardless of how much he wanted to, or how much it hurt him not to, Thorin could not be with Bilbo. He could not continue to love him as he did. He owed that at least to his people, as well as the hobbit.

His thoughts were cut short by the sound of bushes rustling not far off. Cautiously, the king reached for his bow, and pulling the string back, aimed for where he thought the sound had come from, if only to scare off whatever animal had made it.

He let the arrow fly, and a yelp sounded from the bush it had landed in. Thorin got to his feet immediately, because that yelp was in no way that of an animal.

He ran in the general direction that his arrow had flown, and nearly shouted at the sight he came upon.

Standing before him was Bilbo Baggins, wearing and questioning look on his face and holding the arrow between two fingers.

"I don't know where you come from," he said, "But here in The Shire, we at least have the decency to ask before shooting someone.

Thorin laughed then, feeling an overwhelming relief that he had not hurt the burglar.

"Excuse me," the hobbit said, obviously annoyed, "Did you hear a word that I said?"

"Yes," Thorin replied, "Though I don't think you comprehend just how terrible with a bow hobbits tend to be."

The silence made him cringe. He had probably done something wrong again- though he doubted it could get worse than nearly killing the person he intended on apologizing to.

"Thorin." Bilbo whispered, his expression blank.

"It's been a long time," The king said, rubbing his hand against his neck awkwardly. "I was hoping that I would meet you under better circumstances, but it appears to not be so."

"Hm." Something in the strained tone the hobbit held made Thorin want to look away in shame. He had hurt him.

"Well, what were you doing out in the woods anyways? Do you have a place to stay?" the smaller of the two asked in a tight voice.

"I'm afraid not."

Bilbo nodded. "I expected as much. I suppose it's only polite to offer you my home for the night. I have a decent enough guest bedroom, if you're interested."

"I would be very indebted to you, Master Baggins." Thorin said, and the hobbit visibly winced at his comment. Thorin wondered why.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Hey guys! This is just a little Thilbo thing I've been wanting to do for a while. I'm guestamating around 3 chapters for this, so it's not going to be too crazy.**

 **Let me know what you thought!**

 **Thanks!**

 **Quiteokayish**


	2. Chapter 2

Perhaps it was too much for Bilbo to assume that Thorin would knock at the door.

Or give any warning of his coming, really.

"I don't have much left, I need to go shopping." The hobbit said, sifting through his increasingly empty pantry. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to have?"

"No," Thorin said from behind him, and Bilbo sighed heavily. Was he always this blunt? He didn't remember him as such.

"Are you hungry at all?" the hobbit asked, turning to face him. He tried his best to not sound exasperated, he really did, but his mind was running at a million miles a minute, and what he really needed to do was sit in his armchair for a time and think things over.

"I'll be fine," the dwarf king assured him, placing his bags against the hall bench without so much as asking for permission. Bilbo should have expected as much.

Their eyes met awkwardly for a few moments before the hobbit nodded. "Right then, come with me and I'll show you to your room."

Hauling his bags over his shoulders and looking rather annoyed, the dwarf king followed Bilbo down the hall and to the right, where a neat, cozy room was waiting.

"The bed should fit," Bilbo said, "Though dwarves are still taller than us hobbits, if only by a bit. The restroom is at the end of the hall, and you know where the kitchen is. My room is down that way a bit, on the left" He motioned with his hand vaguely. "If you should need me, that is. Are you alright then?"

"I am," Thorin said with a nod.

"Right." Bilbo said, shuffling out the door, but could only make it so far before a voice called after him.

"Wait a moment- please."

He dared to hope that Thorin had something important to say to him, something that would change their current awkward situation. Would he apologize? Would he ask to stay up with him? Would he tell him the very thing that Bilbo dared not think he'd say again?

"Yes?" he asked, coming back into the room.

Thorin reached down to the floor and picked up a simple, wooden chest.

"This is for you," he said, his arms outstretched towards the hobbit. "It's your fourteenth share of the treasure. You seem to have forgotten to get it before you left."

Bilbo stared blankly at the chest. He knew what Thorin meant. There were a lot of things that he had 'forgotten' to do before he left.

"Please, Master Baggins," Thorin said, and Bilbo froze.

Of course Thorin wouldn't call him by his first name. Of course they'd only be addressing each other in formalities. This was only a business visit, after all. Thorin was only doing his duty of paying Bilbo. He was only doing what he had to. The hobbit was foolish to think that the king would ever regard him as he once did.

They were merely acquaintances now.

"Thank you," he said, and he tried to sound meaningful, he really did. He reached out and took the chest, and found it to be surprisingly light. He shot the king a questioning glance.

"Jewels and trinkets, mostly." He said, "As well as the Mithril shirt I had given to you. You seem to have left that in Erebor as well."

"So I did." Bilbo replied dryly. "Thank you, and goodnight."

With this he turned and left the room, not daring to look back until he had made it a great ways down the hall.

He could only hope that Thorin didn't hear him throw the chest across his bedroom in frustration not many minutes after.

* * *

Thorin supposed that their introduction may not have gone as planned.

What could he expect though- honestly? It wasn't as if Bilbo would jump into his arms and cry with joy, nor was it likely that he and the hobbit would stay up late into the night catching up on what they had missed from each other's lives. As the night progressed, however, Thorin began to understand. Under no circumstances could he expect Bilbo to forgive him.

The room was nice, he noticed, being sure to take off his muddy boots and leave them by the door- something that in retrospect, he should have done before entering the house. He then stripped himself of his smelly clothes and changed into one of his cleaner shirts and less offensive trousers. He wondered briefly if he should bother unpacking. He doubted he'd be staying long.

* * *

Bilbo woke up early that next morning to prepare breakfast.

For the most part, it was because he was concerned about himself getting enough to eat. He knew from experience just how relentless dwarves were when it came to food.

As for the other part, he really didn't wish to see Thorin that morning.

The sudden coming of his friend was easily the most surprising event in his life. Bilbo had only just resigned himself from remembering his adventure at all, and then suddenly the one thing that haunted him returned, in the form of Thorin Oakenshield shooting a bow at his feet.

Bilbo grumpily munched on the eggs he had prepared himself. He should have been happy. He should have been ecstatic that his long gone friend had returned, even if the circumstance was as menial as payment for the service Bilbo rendered several years prior.

But he wasn't. He was hurt and angry and overall just finished with the notion of love altogether.

He ate quickly, and went to grab his gardening tools. At the very least, he needed to get out of the house. There were also dreadful patches of weeds showing up in his strawberries.

With a shovel and gloves in his possession, Bilbo left the house as silently as possible. He'd forgo a meeting with the dwarf prince for as long as he could.

He hummed as he knelt to the ground, pulling on his leather gloves. He proceeded to hum as his shovel dug into the earth and uprooted several weeds that had been making their home in his garden for far too long a time, though his tune was occasionally interrupted by a grunt as he struggled with a particularly nasty weed.

* * *

Slightly disheveled and altogether confused, Thorin Oakenshield crawled from the warmth of the hobbit bed and moved to find the kitchen. It became increasingly obvious with each growl of his stomach just how bad of an idea it was to deny dinner the previous night.

"Bilbo?" he asked quietly, stopping to knock on the hobbit's door. When there was no answer, he figured he'd have to find his own way, and wandered into the kitchen, in no particular hurry to run into the hobbit again and cause the same awkwardness that had occurred the previous night.

As Thorin sifted through the pantry, finding some things that could amount to breakfast, he pondered what he could do to change his current dilemma. He believed that an apology was in order, but he also knew just how stubborn Bilbo could be, and how little words could do to heal the wound he had surely made.

With a sigh, he began to eat the impressive array of grains he had attained from the pantry and let his eyes drift over the mess of a table.

Books and papers and maps alike covered it, as well as the occasional dirty plate and misplaced spoon. The king was strangely satisfied with the sight. The humble mess reminded him of his days spent with his young nephews, as well as his own younger years, when all that really mattered was how fast he could run and how long he had before it was time for bed.

A swift breeze fluttered from the hall, and he wondered if Bilbo had been out and just returned. After a few minutes of silence, the king grew curious and got to his feet.

Upon approaching the green door of Bag-end, Thorin soon realized that no one had come in. The door hung awkwardly at the left side, and was clearly broken. Upon further investigation he saw a small toolbox tucked beside the wall, as well as a screw lying hazardously on the wooden floor.

With little hesitation, he picked it up and got to work.

* * *

Bilbo let out a yelp as he tripped over the leg of a certain dwarf, placed directly in front of the door. Taking a moment to gather his wits as he helped himself off the floor, he dusted off his shirt and shot Thorin a questioning glance.

"I'm sorry," the dwarf said quickly. "I was only trying to fix your door."

"Fix my…" his words trailed off as he saw the tools surround the dwarf who currently sat on the floor- and it was then that he remembered that his door was still broken.

"It's alright," he said lamely, not quite sure of what to do. With a stiff nod at the dwarf he headed towards the kitchen to wash off his hands.

After removing a great deal of filth that sat beneath his fingernails, Bilbo leaned against the counter for a few moments. Had Thorin had breakfast? The hobbit was sure that he had. It was not like dwarves to go without eating, even if they weren't directly invited to do so.

It was then that Bilbo decided to do the most respectable of things, and took out a clean glass pitcher. Filling it with water and juicing some lemons, he made what he knew his father to make whenever guests had come over, that is, lemonade.

He took a few glasses and filled them, and with a solidifying sense of determination he made his way back to where the dwarf sat tinkering with his door.

"Here you go," he said, smiling slightly as he handed the glass to the unsuspecting dwarf.

"What is it?" he asked, eyeing the liquid for a few moments, no doubt worried about the yellow color it possessed. The thought of Thorin thinking Bilbo would do something such as that made his let out a short laugh.

"Lemonade," he said, "Water mixed with lemon juice. It's one of my favorite drinks for hot days like this."

The dwarf lost his air of suspiciousness and took a sip of the drink. "It's different," he said, "But it's good. Thank you, Bilbo."

It was then that the hobbit recalled just how much he missed being referred to by his first name, especially in Thorin's voice.

"Just being a good host," he said, "Tell me, what do you have planned after you leave?"

"I assure you, if I'm being a bother I could depart today-"

"Not at all," the hobbit said quickly, "I was just wondering, is all."

"Right," Thorin said, sitting back on his hands and taking another drink of his lemonade. "Well I had told Balin I'd come help with his endeavors in Moria, though I did not say when, so I suppose that I have some days to travel before being set in a route."

"I see," said Bilbo, and then in an effort to keep the conversation going he said, "How have the past five years been?"

Thorin met his eyes for a moment, and Bilbo knew that he had subtly brought up the subject of the letters. He had decided to give the king the benefit of the doubt, and let him try to explain himself for ignoring Bilbo for so long a time.

"They've been insane," he said, "I've spent nearly every day discovering a new dilemma Smaug had caused with tearing apart our home. That, and a steady flow of immigrants from the Blue Mountains have kept me relatively busy."

"Oh, I'm sure." Bilbo said, and he did not mean it to sound sarcastic, though he felt it definitely must have come off as so.

"So among your business you found a day or two to visit an old friend?" the hobbit asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

"Yes, I suppose so." Thorin offered, his gaze wandering back to the door.

The smaller of the two felt his spine go stiff. "You _suppose_ so?"

"Did you not hear me?"

"I did." Bilbo said, getting to his feet and heading back to the kitchen without another word to the dwarf.

* * *

It was on the second day that Thorin discovered the paintings.

He knew that Bilbo had been avoiding him, making almost any and every excuse to go to his bedroom, his garden or to talk to a neighbor. The majority of his time was spent racking his brain for any idea of what to do. He could, under no circumstance, leave this house with any vileness left between them.

Bilbo had just told Thorin he was going out to fish when the dwarf decided to properly wander Bag-end. He found a total of three closets, two spare bedrooms, and three more rooms used for storage. It was when he was running out of doors to open when he found one with a lock.

It was unlatched however, and first taking a moment to listen for Bilbo, Thorin pushed open the door and headed inside.

The sight he came upon was an unexpected one.

He was immediately bombarded by an array of colors. Paintings and illustrations hung on every inch of wall, and a few easels held up some that had yet to be finished. Some of the paintings were as simple as a wild flower or a sunset, while others made him hold his breath.

There were ponies, and barrels, as well as stone halls and thick forests. One depicted a lush red canopy with sapphire butterflies fluttering against a clear sunrise, and another was the face of a strange, gangly creature that he could not recognize. There was one of a raven, and another of what he recognized as Orcrist. One in particular caught his eye. It rested against the right wall, near a tin bucket full of brushes and a puddle of orange paint.

It depicted stone gate, overviewing a plain landscape and a ruined city in the distance. The sun was rising, and if one looked closely they could see the small dots that were the people of Thranduil's army. By far, the most prominent aspect of the painting was the figure in the center. He was alone, wearing a familiar crown and familiar cape. His chin was up and his shoulders straight. His hair was long and black, falling in small curls down his back.

Thorin swallowed.

Had he actually looked like that once?

The very memory of his madness left him shaken and terrified, so Thorin decided to instead find a less menacing picture.

His eyes were drawn to another, smaller painting, this one being of a simple acorn sitting on a wooden table. Thorin had originally skimmed over it, but now that it caught his attention he began to realize the significance of the painting. He traced the edges of it with his fingertips, feeling relieved and horrified that Bilbo had not forgotten him after all.

"Thorin?"

His hand shot back to his chest as if the picture had burned him, and the king swiftly turned to see Bilbo, looking rather confused and upset.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was just wandering the house," he replied quickly.

"This room is off limits," Bilbo said, his eyebrows knitting together in an accusing manner.

The dwarf put his hands up. "I did not know."

"There's a lock on the door, Thorin, what did you think it was?"

He bowed his head to look at his feet, feeling rather embarrassed at his blatant trespassing. After a few moments of silence, he decided to do what he could to mend the situation. "You're very skilled," he said, "These paintings are beautiful- they rival Ori's even."

"Please, go on." Bilbo said, his voice dripping with dark sarcasm.

"There are paintings from our journey." He said quietly. "Of the barrels, and Mirkwood, and even the ponies…"

Bilbo said nothing, so he continued.

"You even painted me… and _the_ acorn?"

"Don't." The hobbit said, his voice icy. "You can stop talking now."

Bilbo still did not meet his eyes. Going against the logical side of his mind, Thorin continued to speak.

"Why would you do all this? This must have taken hours. Days even-"

" –because," Bilbo interjected. "Because you… you are…"

The dwarf king stepped forward. "Bilbo…"

The hobbit took a nearly violent step back, his eyes red and his face in a grimace.

"You _will not_ touch me." He said firmly, though his voice shook slightly. "And you will let me finish."

Thorin's mouth shut; and he couldn't help but clench his fist. This was not at all what he had hoped for.

Bilbo breathed deeply for a few moments, a hand resting on a nearby table and his face becoming redder by the moment.

At this point, he was worried. "Master Baggins-"

"Just be quiet- will you?" the hobbit's voice rose in volume with each word. "I wrote you for five years after the journey. _Five._ And I did not receive a single word in response. It was as if I had died. How could you leave me like that Thorin?" a tear fell from one of his grey eyes, and Thorin felt a part of him break.

"You told me that you loved me," Bilbo continued. " I believed it. I painted these," he gestured to the various paintings adorning his walls, "In an effort to go back to that time. And now you show up in all of your kingly glory and all I get is chest of gems. Perhaps if I was a dwarf, that would be a sufficient apology. But I am not, Thorin, and I can't just move on from something like this."

"I did not come to hurt you," the dwarf king said.

"Then why are you here?" Bilbo demanded, face red with anger.

"To give you your fourteenth share of the treasure," Thorin said, feeling something in his heart give way.

"Is that all?"

Thorin gazed at him for several moments before cautiously whispering, "No, it is not."

"Then why else?"

He stepped forward slowly, reaching for the hobbit. Bilbo stepped back again, and that hurt him in a way that almost seemed physical.

"I wanted to see you again." He said, "I made you a promise, I wanted to keep it."

"And I suppose you did." Bilbo said quietly. "Though you chose to wait quite a long time. You were the first person that I truly…" his voice grew raw, "loved. And you had the nerve to keep me in the dark for five years. You let me assume that I was alone, that you didn't care about me at all. How dare you do such a thing?"

"I'm sorry Bilbo, I am." The words were rushing out now, there was no way to hinder them. "I did not think that we could ever regain what we had, not after all I did to you. I was ashamed, I thought that you would never think of me as you once did."

The smaller of the two shook his head. "No- you were a coward. You knew perfectly well that I would accept you, you knew that I would have welcomed you home at any time."

 _Home._ Thorin felt his heart beat a little faster at the word that had grown to mean so much to him.

The hobbit sighed before he continued. "All it would take was one letter, one visit or one messenger, one more quest to steal from a dragon, and I would have let you back in a heartbeat."

"I know you would have."

"So why didn't you write me?" Bilbo asked, his voice falling apart with each word as more and more tears gathered in his eyes. "Why didn't you stop by for lunch? Trash my kitchen- break my dishes- I would have done it all again."

"I didn't want to hurt you, not again." He said firmly. "I could hardly live with myself the first time I did."

The silence plagued them for a few moments more, during which Bilbo rubbed his arm against his eyes roughly, and Thorin stared at his feet.

"Well," the hobbit finally said. "Now that that's all sorted out, would you like some tea?"

* * *

The tea was made by shaking hands. Bilbo found his head to be swimming, with relief and fear, anger and sadness, hope and content. He joined Thorin in the arm chair sitting on the left of the one the king currently occupied, handing him his tea with a soft smile before going to stoke the fire.

"I truly have hurt you." Thorin remarked.

"Yes, you have." The hobbit said bluntly.

"I am sorry."

"I know you are."

"Do you forgive me?" Thorin's voice was held a distinct edge to it.

"You know I do."

They stayed up well into the night, talking through most of it, and staring in silence at the fire through the latter part. Their interactions were no longer awkward, only peaceful and warm and familiar, as if Bilbo had just stepped into a new set of clothes after being caught in a storm.

If, at some point in the night, his and Thorin's fingers intertwined, neither would say a word, and neither would move, simply sitting and enjoying the comforts of home.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **One more chapter afta this! There was a lot of symbolism in here, perhaps it was the hipster music I've been listening to. Anyways, please let me know what you think! Reviews are awesome!**

 **Next time, be prepared for fluff, fluff, fluff, ANGST, fluff.**

 **That is all.**

 **Quiteokayish**


	3. Chapter 3

"Did you have any plans today?"

Thorin turned from where he was dozing comfortably in Bilbo's armchair.

"I don't think so." He replied, stretching. They had apparently fallen asleep by the fire the previous night, and Thorin was sure that there would be a pleasant knot in his back for some days to come.

The hobbit stood in the kitchen, packing a small sack full of food. Thorin wondered what for, though he guessed he'd know soon enough.

"Then go get dressed." Bilbo said, tossing Thorin a thick slice of bread. "I wanted to show you something."

With a great deal of grumbling, and a small smile on the corner of his lips, he rose from his chair and went to his room, finishing the bread in a few swift bites.

As Thorin dressed and did what he could with his mess of hair, he couldn't help but bask in the content he felt. After all, Bilbo had forgiven him, they had talked things out. It seemed that whatever would happen after this would be a step in the right direction.

He paused amid buttoning his shirt.

Of course, regardless of how well they got along after the previous night, there would be no future for them. How could there be? He was a king and Bilbo was a hobbit. It was as simple as that.

Was it though? Surely there was some things could be arranged. While no heir could be produced, nor would the people readily accept one that was not of their own kind, if they saw Bilbo, if they spoke with him and knew him, could that change?

A knock sounded on his door. "Thorin, are you alright?"

"Yes." He answered, his voice being hoarse for some reason. The dwarf king finished dressing and stepped outside to see Bilbo, holding a fishing pole in one hand and a box in the other, a wide grin painting his face.

"I'm not one for fishing," Thorin dead-panned.

The hobbit shrugged. "You don't have to fish." He said, "I just wanted to show you something, and perhaps fish simultaneously.

He sighed, but followed Bilbo out the door and out of Bag-end regardless.

"Thank you for fixing my door, by the way." He said, "I doubt I'd ever get around to it."

"I doubt it as well," Thorin said, to which Bilbo turned and shot him a look.

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing at all." He replied, following the hobbit out the gate and into the street.

"Listen here- Thorin Oakenshield-" Bilbo stopped in his tracks, causing the larger of the two to nearly tumble into him.

"Oh, I seem to have forgotten the food." He said.

"I'll go back and get it." The taller of the two offered, swiftly making his way up the steps and back into Bag-end.

He _had_ done a good job on the door, Thorin noted as it opened and shut without so much as a squeak. Venturing into the kitchen, he found the bag that Bilbo had packed lying on the table, and quickly swung it over his shoulder, only to knock several papers onto the floor.

Swearing softly, he bent to pick them up, but upon shuffling them back into place, he noticed familiar handwriting.

It was an envelope addressed to Bilbo Baggins, from Balin son of Fundin. It had yet to be opened.

Being incredibly curious but also wary of harming their fragile peace, he gingerly placed it on the table. He'd ask Bilbo about it later.

* * *

"Yes!" The hobbit exclaimed, reeling in his line to see a decent sized Brooke trout on the end.

"I don't know why you bothered to bring food," Thorin said from where he sat against a mossy rock. "You're catching fish anyways."

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Toss me that knife, will you? I think I'll let this one go and star cleaning the rest. We need to get going if we want to make it there on time."

"Where?" the dwarf asked, handing him the small knife they had brought.

He threw the trout back in and got to work cleaning the few fish he had decided to keep. While fishing wasn't the main point of this day trip- it was a large bonus that there were so many excellent holes on the way. The hobbit simply could not resist.

"A place that my father used to take me when I was young." Bilbo said. "I'm sure you'll find it interesting."

"Why do you think so?" Thorin asked, watching as the hobbit finished cleaning one of the fish and picked up another.

He gave the dwarf a half smile. "Because you aren't nearly mysterious as you seem- Thorin. I'm sure that you'll love it. I-"

Bilbo dropped the fish, cursing loudly, and Thorin visibly winced as blood began to emerge from where he had just sliced in the skin beside his thumb nail.

"I thought you were experienced in fishing?" Thorin asked, going to pull off the hem of his shirt before Bilbo held out his uninjured hand to stop him.

"That's quite alright," he said as he sucked tenderly at his wounded appendage. "I have bandages in the tackle box. I don't know what it is with you dwarves and sacrificing your clothing." he picked up the half cleaned fish and handed it to the dwarf. "Would you finish this while I go and find some?"

Thorin complied, watching as Bilbo went to sift through the tackle box, at one point swearing quite loudly, then quickly saying "Fish hook" in an answer to Thorin's unasked question.

He finished the fish and strung them up before washing the gore from his fingers in the river. He then approached Bilbo, who sat cross legged as he tried to tie a bandage with his free hand.

He didn't ask before taking the hobbits injured hand to tie the bandage himself, though he doubted the hobbit would mind.

"I am." Bilbo said.

"What?" Thorin asked, looking down to meet his frustrated gaze.

"Experienced with fishing. You accused me of being otherwise."

"Oh," the dwarf replied. "If it makes you feel any better, I think I may have accidently decapitated a few fish in my attempt to gut them. Dwarf hands aren't very nimble."

The hobbit grinned. "I can tell. Your bandaging skills make my wonder if I would be better off trying to do it myself."

Thorin rolled his eyes as he finished tying up Bilbo's thumb and stood, offering the hobbit a hand up.

"Better?" he asked, nodding towards the hobbit's hand that currently sat in his.

"I suppose." He said, giving the king a smirk. "Now come on, we need to get going if we don't want to miss it."

With this the hobbit grabbed his things and moved on down the trail. Smiling, Thorin followed.

* * *

"What exactly are we waiting for?" Thorin asked, skipping a stone across the small pool that sat in front of them. The duo currently sat on the rocky bay next to a humble spring. The sun had gone down quite some time previously, and Thorin was beginning to grow tired of the multiple mosquitos in the air.

"You'll see." Bilbo said, "Any time now."

He sighed, tightening the tie that currently held his hair in place at the nape of his neck. Dusk was slowly turning into darkness, and he began to wonder just how late Bilbo planned to keep him out that night.

"There!" The hobbit exclaimed, tugging at Thorin's sleeve and pointing across the river. His gaze followed to see a small, lazily blinking orange light.

"What is that?" he asked, squinting. It was no use though- all he could make out was the little orb of light.

Soon another appeared beside it, and another, and as the night grew darker, the blinking lights multiplied until it was as if he was surrounding by stars.

"They're fireflies," Bilbo whispered beside him, as if too much noise might scare the lights off.

He couldn't help but whisper as he replied, "They're insects?"

"Yes," Bilbo said, and though it was dark, Thorin could make out a nod. "This place is always full of them this time of year."

"I see." He said, gaze traveling around only to find that the flies were everywhere.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?"

Thorin smiled softly, turning to Bilbo. His eyes seemed to dance with light, and his mouth was half open in an almost permanent smile.

"Indeed."

The dwarf was surprised when a small arm wrapped itself around his back, but Bilbo still was not looking at him, only staring wide eyed at the spectacle around them. Soon his own arm came to sit around the hobbit's middle, and they both leaned into the other's embrace.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Bilbo jumped at the suddenness of Thorin's voice as the dwarf emerged into the painting room, and he quickly pulled some papers over the project he had been working on.

"Nothing." He said, and when Thorin raised a thick eyebrow he continued, "At least, you'll see later."

"Hm." The dwarf said, though as he came to move the papers himself, Bilbo slapped his hand firmly on the table to keep them in place.

"What did I just tell you?"

"Fine, fine." The dwarf said, putting his hands up in a defensive manner. "I just thought I'd let you know, there's someone at the door."

"Oh, grand." The hobbit huffed, getting to his feet and quickly sliding on his robe. "It's quite early in the morning," he said, "Whoever it is, they must certainly be cruel."

He heard Thorin grunt in amusement behind him, and visibly rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, pulling open the door to reveal Amelia Brandybuck, a kind neighbor of his.

"No worries, Bilbo." She said, smiling sweetly. "I just came to drop off the kettle you let me borrow last week. I've come several times already, though I haven't been able to catch you lately it seems."

"Thank you," he said, taking the fine brass kettle from her hands. "And I apologize again. I've been quite busy."

"Yes, I'm sure." She replied, her pretty brown eyes darting over the hobbit's shoulder. "You seem to have company."

"Ah yes," he said, stepping to the side. "This is my friend Thorin, he was with me on that strange adventure I went on all of those years ago." He gestured for the dwarf to come forward, which Thorin grudgingly did. He was still in his nightclothes, after all.

"Thorin, this is Amelia. She's been a friend of mine for quite a while."

"Hello!" Amelia said, blushing slightly, and Thorin nodded. "It's a pleasure."

"Well if you'll excuse me," Bilbo said, "I should probably get ready for the day."

"Oh yes," she said, "Will I be seeing you for dinner tonight? I turns out I'm out of town tomorrow, so it seems we'll have to change the date."

"Perhaps," The hobbit glanced back at Thorin. "Though I may be busy."

"I hope you become un-busy then." Amelia said, and then with a polite wave at them, she turned and began to walk down the path. "Have a good day, Bilbo, Thorin!"

"She likes you." The hobbit said as he closed the door. Thorin scoffed. "I doubt it."

"Then how does dinner sound tonight?" he asked, smirking. "I'm sure that she'd love to have us- or more likely- you."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "Your argument is invalid."

Bilbo rubbed his chin. "I'll leave it up to you then. In the meantime- I need to go to the market and pick up a few things. You've quite possibly cleaned out my pantry."

He started for his bedroom before asking over his shoulder, "Would you like to come with me this afternoon?"

"I assumed I already would be."

Bilbo smiled at this, and continued on to get dressed.

* * *

He supposed that Thorin didn't get quite as many stares as he had expected, though they had left later than planned. Apparently Bilbo had been working on his project well past elevensies and even lunch, something that worried him immensely.

It was nearly time for dinner when they reached the marketplace, and Bilbo was quick to buy whatever food he needed before he became too hungry.

He had just finished buying an assortment of fruit when Thorin's voice sounded from behind him.

"Bilbo."

The hobbit turned, Thorin's gaze darted away from his, something that bothered him.

"What is it?" he asked, being sure to move away from the vendors and any unwelcoming ears before Thorin answered.

"I don't know when, but I'm going to need to leave at some point."

"Oh." Bilbo mumbled, his eyes falling to stare at his feet. "I suppose so."

"Is there any time in particular you'd like me to leave?"

He laughed dryly, half tempted to say ' _Never'._

"Whenever you wish." He said lamely. "Really, it's up to you."

"But I want to hear what you have to say."

The hobbit looked up, surprised. "What?"

Thorin met his gaze head on. "When would you like me to leave?"

Bilbo shrugged, wondering if it would be proper at all to say what he was thinking. Then again, he couldn't remember the last time he honestly cared about being proper; after his adventure that is.

"I'd prefer you didn't." he mumbled.

Thorin hesitated for a moment, and Bilbo briefly wondered if he had said the wrong thing. "But you can still leave whenever you want." He tried to amend.

"Just know…" Bilbo wondered why his mouth was still running. "You're always welcome at Bag-end. I only pray that you don't come on an empty stomach."

Thorin laughed, and Bilbo jumped. He had never heard Thorin laugh- at least- not like that. It was so clear and deep and simple, it made something warm well up inside his chest.

"We should finish shopping if you want to get home before dark." The king said, placing a hand on Bilbo's back to push him back towards the vendors.

* * *

"It tastes good enough to me." Thorin said, taking another quick sip of ale before he handed the bottle back to his friend. They had topped off their trip to the market with a visit to the brewers, at which Bilbo bought what he called one of his favorite drinks.

"I really can't decide which one I like best," he had said, "Though this one always gives me less of a headache in the morning."

"It's been quite a while since I've had ale," the hobbit said, pulling a few glasses from his cabinet and filling them up with the golden liquid. "I usually have to be in the mood for it. My alcohol tolerance is quite low, actually."

"I never would have guessed." Thorin replied sarcastically, watching as Bilbo capped the bottle and put it away.

"I'm not a pleasant drunk," he explained when he saw Thorin's questioning gaze. "And something tells me you aren't either."

"Not at all." Thorin agreed, taking his glass and following Bilbo to the fireplace where they both took their respective armchairs.

"So tell me, Thorin, are there any dwarf maiden's that have their eyes on you, or is Amelia the first girl to be interested?" Bilbo asked jokingly, and Thorin rolled his eyes.

"If my father were still here I'm sure I'd be married already." He said, "It's not a matter of who finds me attractive, or vice versa."

"And what about love?"

The dwarf looked up; suspecting the comment to be sarcastic, but the hobbit's face was innocent enough, pleading, almost.

"It's the same for love as well." He said, taking a drink to wash down how much the words stung his throat.

"Shame." Bilbo said, taking a sip of his own drink. "Now here I am thinking you'd move in with Amelia, though I assume all of The Shire would be in an uproar."

"And what about you?" Thorin asked, "You're still a bachelor after all."

"Much by choice, you see." Bilbo said, scooting his chair around so it faced the king's. "I've never been much of a romantic. I find the whole business dreadful."

"Really?" Thorin asked, "All of it?"

"Well you see Thorin," Bilbo said, his voice relaxed. "After confessing myself to my one true love, I didn't see him for the next five years. I assume that he no longer feels like he did, at least, I hope not, because I'm afraid I still do."

He was stunned by the hobbit's sudden confession, though his words caused Thorin's heart to speed up slightly.

"Besides," Bilbo said, "He's worked his entire life, and I'm only a rich sod. I doubt he'd want much to do with me anymore."

"Bilbo…"

"His name is Bofur."

Thorin blanched. "What?!"

"Yes, that's him." Bilbo nodded to himself. "Tell me, has he mentioned me?"

The king glared down at where his hands sat in his lap, completely disoriented. So after all this time- Bilbo really…

A bark of laughter erupted across from him, followed by a few more laughs, until Bilbo fell into a fit, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath between giggles.

"My goodness, you believed me, didn't you?" The hobbit asked, wiping a tear from his eye and grinning widely. "I can't believe I got you with that one. Really Thorin- you need to read people better."

He stared blankly at Bilbo.

"So… the one you love… "

"It isn't Bofur, you oaf." The hobbit confirmed. "You're just as gullible as I remember, though."

Feeling a huge rush of relief as well as a rush of embarrassment overcome him, Thorin heaved a deep sigh, letting his head fall back against the chair.

"You disgust me, Bilbo." He said.

"And you amuse me, Thorin." The hobbit replied.

He took a quick drink, intending to say something snarky, but the sight of a harp tucked beside the bookshelf caught his eye.

He leaned over and grabbed it, pulling it into his lap and giving it a few experimental tweaks.

"I didn't know you play." Bilbo said.

"I haven't for a while." The king replied, plucking each string quietly in an attempt to conjure up one of his memorized melodies. "I've been too busy."

The right chord was hit, so he hit it again, and his fingers soon began to travel back and forth, plucking the wrong string every now and again, but overall playing a simple, eloquent melody.

He hummed with it, not quite remembering the words, though every other measure a lyric or two would slip out. It was a lullaby that he used to play alongside Dis to put his nephews to sleep.

As he neared the chorus, he felt a small hand rest against his knee, and his fingers faltered.

"Thorin…"

The king looked up, only to see the hobbit's face inching nearer and nearer to his own. He felt his heart drop as he realized what was occurring.

"I don't mean what I said about Bofur." Bilbo said softly.

"You better not." Thorin replied, feeling little regard for his kingly duties as he closed the distance between them.

* * *

The scar was large, at least the size of Bilbo's hand, and covered most of Thorin's shoulder blade. It was a dark pink, as if it had only just healed over recently. The hobbit gently traced it's edges, rubbing his bandaged thumb across it's middle.

Thorin turned to him, his tired eyes looking into his own questioningly.

"I didn't know that the sword went all the way through when Azog stabbed you." Bilbo said quietly.

"It didn't." Thorin replied. "An infection set in not long after, There were several surgeries to remove it. That scar's going to last quite a long time."

"How long was it until you were able to function like normal?" Bilbo asked, eyes flickering up to meet his.

"Several months." The king replied simply. "I had the best medical attention possible, though the emotional support felt slim to me."

Gingerly, as if he were afraid that Thorin would disappear, Bilbo placed his hand on the king's cheek, caressing it gently before pushing some hair away from his face.

"I never stopped loving you."

Thorin replied by closing his eyes, pulling the hobbit close, and pressing their foreheads together.

Bilbo could have died happy that night.

* * *

It worried him that Bilbo wasn't there when he awoke.

Thorin quickly got to his feet, pulling on the shirt and pants that had been left on the floor and heading out into the hall, praying that he had not done something wrong.

"Bilbo?" he asked, searching through the kitchen, then the living room and dining room. When there was no reply, his calls became a little more frantic.

"Bilbo? Where are you?"

"In here."

The response had come from the painting room, to which the door was surprisingly open. Thorin entered cautiously, only to see Bilbo standing in front of an easel, paint brush in hand.

"Why are you awake so early?" Thorin asked as he took a seat at the table behind Bilbo.

"Just checking the mail."

The tightness in his voice worried him, and Thorin was quick to reach over and grab the letters that sat at the edge of the table. A few were ones that he didn't not recognize, but it was then that he found Balin's letter, this time however, it was open.

 _Master Baggins,_

 _I'm sure that by now Thorin has reached The Shire. If he has, I ask that you inform him of this letter as soon as possible. If he has already left, then there's no need to worry._

 _Something has gone terribly, terribly wrong in this expedition. There are unexpected groups of goblins attacking us left and right. Twenty dwarves have died already. We need reinforcements in Moria as soon as possible. I fear that there's more to these caverns than meets the eye._

 _Please have Thorin leave as soon as possible. He needs to make his way to the Blue Mountains, find as many soldiers as he can, and then get over here quickly. I'm venturing back into the caves next week or so, though I'm afraid that without the proper numbers we will quickly be killed._

 _With warmest regards,_

 _Balin, son of Fundin._

He put the letter back down on the table. Balin had been so sure that he could handle this, and now reinforcements? He'd have to leave immediately, he'd have to find a raven and send word to the Blue Mountains. He'd have to-

Bilbo had stopped painting and was now clutching the brush in his hand tightly.

Thorin's heart dropped into his stomach.

Slowly, quietly, he got to his feet, and moved to place a hand on Bilbo's shoulder.

"You have to go." The hobbit said quietly.

"I don't want to." Thorin replied.

"But you need to."

The room was silent, and Thorin's grip on Bilbo's shoulder loosened, his hand traveling down to grasp the hobbit's own. He stepped forward to see that Bilbo had been painting a black canvas, dotting it with simple yellow lights.

"I'm out of orange paint." The hobbit said, putting his brush on the table. Thorin followed his movement to see that he had placed the brush next to a sketch of a tall, proud oak tree. It had been partially painted, though only the branches. The foliage and the sky had only just been started on.

"What is this?" he asked, taking the sketch into his hands.

"It the oak tree you'll have to look forward too when you return. The sapling is growing near the garden already."

Thorin let out a deep breath, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration.

"Bilbo…"

"I know that you might not come back." The hobbit said. "I expect it really. It's just… I thought I'd have time to finish the tree, so that you'd have something to remind you as you went on with life."

Bilbo squeezed the king's hand.

"There will always be a home for you here in Bag-end."

He didn't think much when he kissed the hobbit's curls gently, nor when he pulled him into a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry Bilbo."

"I know."

* * *

It was noon when he left.

Bilbo was quick to prepare some food for his journey, as well as fuss of menial things that he'd need to bring. It helped in a way. Worrying over the little things distracted the hobbit from his larger problems, and there seemed to be many of late.

"Alright." Thorin said, coming into the kitchen where Bilbo was waiting for him. He set his bags down. "I'm ready to…" he paused, eyes scanning the table.

"Bilbo, why are there two packs?"

The hobbit swallowed. "I was hoping… well I thought that I could come with you."

Thorin placed a hand on the table. "You know you can't do that."

He stood. "It's not as if you can tell me what to do."

"No, you're right." The king replied, his voice surprisingly gentle for being in the middle of an argument. "But I can ask you, and I'm asking you to stay here. I cannot risk you getting hurt."

The hobbit scoffed. "Do you doubt me?"

"No," Thorin said, "You know I don't. Bilbo, please, don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

"I have to, Thorin." He said. "I don't want to leave you."

The king sighed. "It is not you who is leaving."

"Please Thorin…"

"No, Bilbo."

The hobbits face was twisted into a glare and his fists bunched up as he got to his feet. He nearly turned and stormed away, though Thorin's voice stopped him.

"Is this really how we're going to part?" he asked. "It's not much different from last time I suppose."

Bilbo stopped in his tracks, then slowly, with tears in his eyes, turned to Thorin.

"I don't want to do that again." The king whispered.

At this the hobbit's shoulders relaxed, and he moved to stand before the dwarf.

"I'm sorry." Bilbo said.

"I am too." The king replied, pulling the hobbit into a tight hug.

"You are by far the worst possible person on this earth that anyone could fall in love with." Bilbo grumbled against his chest.

Thorin laughed. "I assume that your luck is poor in this aspect?"

"It seems that it always will be."

* * *

Bilbo sat at the bench in his front yard for quite a while after Thorin left.

His mind wandered back and forth between sadness, happiness, and fear.

For one thing, all wounds had been mended, he had seen Thorin, they had forgiven each other, and all was well in that aspect.

But now Thorin was gone.

It was quite possible that he wouldn't return. He was, after all, going into what looked to be the start of a war.

He put his head in his hands. What if his king didn't come back? What if Bilbo remained alone after all? What if he died? What if he didn't remember the hobbit that cared for him so much?

At this, the hobbit jumped to his feet, coming to a sudden realization.

With speed he hadn't known he had, Bilbo dashed inside and went to his painting room, quickly grabbing and folding up his simple painting of the oak tree and tucking it into his pocket. He then proceeded to sprint out his door, down the street and well off into the woods in the general direction Thorin had gone.

He hadn't ran that fast since his adventure, but Bilbo didn't dwell on it, and instead pushed one foot in front of the other. Thorin was on a pony, but if Bilbo was fast enough, he'd most certainly catch up.

Finally, on the horizon, he saw the lone figure of Thorin moving through the trees. He shouted, increasing his pace.

"Thorin!" he yelled, "Thorin wait!"

The king turned, there was a life draining sadness in his eyes as he got off his pony and began walking towards Bilbo.

The hobbit barreled towards him; nearly knocking the dwarf from his feet as he fell into his arms. Thorin sighed heavily as he pulled Bilbo tight against him.

"You have to go home." He said.

"I know." Bilbo replied between breaths. I just came to give you something.

He pulled back, and reached into his jacket pocket to reveal the oak painting.

"It's not finished," he said, placing it gently in Thorin's outstretched palm. "But maybe when you're done with all of this Moria business you can bring it back for me to complete."

"Bilbo-"

"Just remember, Thorin." The hobbit said. "There is always a place for you to call home."

Their eyes met, and it took a millisecond for Thorin to press their lips together, holding Bilbo tightly against him as he expressed through a kiss what could not be expressed through words.

He pulled away and put both hands on his shoulders.

"Thank you." Thorin said, and Bilbo would be lying if he said that there were no tears in the dwarf's eyes.

"Stay safe." Bilbo said "I'll be here when you get back."

It would take a few more minutes for Thorin to finally pull away, and several more for him to disappear into the foliage of the trees.

It would take at least an hour for Bilbo to turn around, and start on his way home.

It would take seventy two years for Thorin's remains to be found in Moria by the Fellowship.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Hey! I might come back and write a more in depth authors not later, but as for now, I need to go to bed. This story is based off of the song "High Hopes" by Kodaline. Some of the dates/ instances are messed up, but meh. I hope that you enjoyed it! I haven't got many reviews on this fic… so I hope its okayish.. please let me know how it was, and what I can improve on!**

 **Thanks for reading! I might write an alternate ending someday, but only if someone actually wants it…**

 **Okay byeeeeeeeeeeeee**

 **Quiteokayish**


	4. Chapter 4

He was a hobbit of The Shire, and an incredibly happy one at that.

His nephew tugged on the leg of his trousers. "Uncle," he said quietly. "When will he be here?"

"Soon." Bilbo responded, leaning against the fence that stood some feet from Bag-end. "He promised he would return before sundown. You may go inside to wait if you wish."

Frodo shook his head. "No, I can wait." He said determinedly.

The hobbit smiled down at his kin, ruffling his hair affectionately.

Three years.

It had taken another three years to stabilize Moria, and some months more for Thorin to find an excuse to come and see him, if only for a short holiday. Bilbo received the news via a Raven that pecked at his window persistently before he came outside. He had nearly dropped the paper it had been written on, and immediately ran to find Frodo, who at that hour was still sleeping.

"Thorin is coming," He had said softly, poking his nephew's side. The blue eyed toddler sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Thorin?"

"Yes, yes, the one that I told you stories about." Bilbo hurried on. "The king under the mountain."

Frodo yawned. "That's nice." He said. "Can I go back to sleep?"

The older of the two laughed and nodded, still buzzing at the thought of seeing the king again, even if it would take him a few months to arrive.

It had been eight years since his adventure with the company, and by that time his hair was just starting to grey, and the wrinkles on his face became deeper. He was nearly sixty now, though by hobbit standards, had hardly aged.

It had been so long since they'd last met. He stopped and took a breath, shoving both hands in their pockets. He had to remind himself repeatedly that this was only a small visit, three days at most. His heart sank a little more each time he did. Would there ever be a time when he and Thorin could truly settle down and be together? Were they doomed to remain as they were, being distant lovers?

Frodo tugged at his trousers again. "Bilbo," he asked softly, and then pointing down the street with a pudgy hand he asked, "Is that him?"

His breath caught.

Thorin ambled slowly down the path to Bag-end, appearing to have not yet noticed the two hobbit's waiting at it's gate. He'd greyed significantly, and he too possessed more wrinkles than before. His time in Moria must have been trying indeed.

A small bag was laced over his chest and rested on his back, a sword was sheathed at his waist, and his hands were empty, though he soon held them out as an excited Frodo came barreling towards him. Though the dwarf seemed confused by the child, he accepted the embrace, lifting Frodo up to rest on his hip.

Bilbo could see them discussing something, and Frodo nodded, pointing towards Bag-end. Thorin followed his hand and with a small smile their eyes met.

"That's my nephew, Frodo." Bilbo explained as Thorin neared. "I'll be looking after him for some time."

"He's lively," Thorin commented, smiling as the young hobbit grinned at him widely. The king placed him gently to the ground, and Frodo looked up at Bilbo.

"This is him?" he asked. Bilbo laughed.

"I would hope so, because otherwise you just attacked a complete stranger!"

The hobbit's brow furrowed, and his uncle shifted.

"Why don't you run inside and get the drawing's you've been working on. I'm sure Thorin would love to see them."

Frodo nodded, and bolted up the stairs and through the green door. Bilbo turned back to Thorin.

"So," he began, "You've made it back I see, and in one piece at that."

"For the most part, yes." Thorin said, "Though I have quite a few scars to show for it."

"Moria is safe?" Bilbo asked, and the king nodded.

"We've driven out all that moved. At the moment we're working on restoration. Soon dwarves may begin to move back."

The hobbit smiled up at him. "I'm glad," he said.

A few moments of silence passed, awkward ones at that, in which each studied the other.

"I'm-" Bilbo paused, swallowing before his voice could croak. "I'm glad you're alright. I was worried."

It was before he could blink, before another word could even leave his mouth that Thorin wrapped his arms around the hobbit, pulling him close.

"I missed you, Bilbo."

He laughed into Thorin's shoulder, blinking back the tears in his eyes.

"Well," he said, "You're back."

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Here's the alternate ending! It was short, but I feel like you guys might have had your fill of domestic fluff. I hope you enjoyed it! Though- I don't know what effect Moria being intact would have on the War of the Ring- so that's gonna bother me for a while.**

 **Also, I'm laughing because of the most recent comment. Not sure if it was a flame or a troll, but thank you my good person, this fic is in fact gay, and a very gay one at that.**

 **Thank you all for reading!**

 **Quiteokayish**


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